


Engage

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7688125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scotty and Chekov share a Jeffries tube.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Engage

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for “Scotty/Chekov” request in a private ask on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) written on my phone at the mall for lack of time...
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He shows up looking better in the red shirt than anyone else in the entire section, beaming like it’s an _honour_ to stain his young hands with the grease of Montgomery’s engines. Montgomery beelines for him around all the busy workers and machines, and Chekov snaps promptly to attention. Saluting in old military style, he chirps, “Reporting for duty, Meester Scott!”

The way he says Montgomery’s name always makes Montgomery want to smile and laugh. Instead he teases, “Extra lessons are hardly a duty, Ensign.” 

Chekov grins sheepishly and melts. His hand lowers, shoulders relaxing, and then he’s just Montgomery’s friend again, if this can at all be called friendship. He tells himself all the senior officers are. But the truth is he’s already forgotten Uhura’s first name and he’s not sure whether Sulu’s quarters are stuffed full of weapons or plants. It’s the hazard of not being strictly on the bridge, like even McCoy generally is.

Chekov lives up there and graces Montgomery with his nights, and now he falls into step as soon as Montgomery turns. The busy Engineering crew don’t even look up anymore—aside from a few envious glances—and they cross to the far wall where Keenser’s backing out of an open panel.

“Malfunctioning circuitry in the Jeffries tubes,” Montgomery explains. The second the words are out of his mouth, Chekov’s down on his knees. Keenser sits with crossed legs and no words—they could do this themselves, but then Chekov wouldn’t learn.

Turning onto his back and poking his head into the tunnel, Chekov asks, muffled through the wall, “Zhe first panel?”

“That’s the one, laddie,” Montgomery answers, kneeling down too and nudging at Chekov’s legs. They twitch aside, and Montgomery explains, “Gotta make room there, I cannae let you go rewirin’ my ship unsupervised just yet!”

Keenser makes a wheezing sound that Montgomery knows is laughter. He shoots his friend a pointed look—if Keenser really is Montgomery’s friend, he’ll let Montgomery have this, even if Keenser is the smaller and therefore wiser choice. Keenser gets up and wanders off, rattling with his chuckles.

Flattening as much as possible to one side, Chekov notes, “It’ll be a tight squeeze,” but no protests beyond that. Montgomery gets down and sidles in the same way Chekov did, having to worm his way between the conduit wall and Chekov’s warm body.

It’s stifling inside, but nothing an engineer can’t handle. Chekov already has the panel open, lying flat along the ground to keep the wires as far from his face as possible. As Montgomery takes and passes over Keenser-sized diagnostic tools from his belt, Chekov muses, “Zhis is like a slumber party. Maybe you should tell me a ghost story while I work.”

They’re definitely getting close. Just to keep his head away from an actual slumber party with Chekov in his room, Montgomery chides, “Don’ be cute, Ensign.”

Usually, that’s where Chekov nods and goes dutifully back to work. This time, he turns, face side-lit in the fluorescent glow of the panel, and asks through a wide smile, “You zhink I am cute?”

Montgomery’s always been too quick to blush and always feels foolish for it. He scowls, “Don’ pretend yeh don’ know you’re cute.”

Chekov just keeps grinning. He looks like a mischievous angel. Montgomery’s one regret is that the stench of metal and seared circuits overpowers whatever natural scent Chekov has. If Starfleet doesn’t work out, Chekov could always be a model.

Then he says, “You’re cute too,” and turns up to face the panel. His fingers fly to all the right places, diagnostic tools all wielded with surety and ease—this kid is exactly as ingenious as his record says. Unfortunately, it also sounds like he’s delusional.

Before Montgomery thinks about how much he’s ruining his career and a perfectly good professional relationship, he leans over to peck Chekov’s cheek. It’s just as soft as he thought it’d be. He can feel Chekov’s shoulder tensing against his.

But when he settles back, reeling in self doubt and scolding, Chekov grins at him like a particularly beautiful constellation and sighs, “I hawe been waiting for you to do zhat for _forever_.”

Montgomery grins. His head might be short-circuiting. Chekov seems to wait for more, but when it’s clear Montgomery’s got nothing, he continues at the panel. Montgomery has a moral compass to examine and a life to arrange. Chekov hums a tune while he works that doesn’t sound Russian at all, though he’d probably swear up and down it is.

Somewhere in the distance, Montgomery can still here Keener laughing.


End file.
